Unfocused
by myrrh fae
Summary: Ryou and his black outs. Spacing out and dreams.


Warning: Gawd.

Disclaimer: Gawd.

I hate myself.

Unfocused.

Prologue:

Bakura was the first to notice. Being that Ryou was his hikari, of course he would see anything wrong. On the other hand, he was rarely in the presence of his light. Ever since the dark ones had attained their physical bodies, he had immediately left, off to plot the demise of one Pharaoh.

But the link was as strong as ever. And he could feel Ryou's movements. The problem was the lack of them.

He had entered his hikari's soul room...to see what was wrong. Normally, he wouldn't enter it, but Ryou hadn't answered any of his blasted questions through the link. And he was also miles away from Ryou. So he had opened his own door to walk out into the hallway. He needed to make sure Ryou was safe. After all, what affected Ryou might still affect him. Just to make sure...

He had opened the door, distantly snide at the utter plainness of its design. What he saw made him stop. Soul rooms were the exact reflection of the owner's soul. They would generally be cluttered with memories and feelings. He had expected books or candies. Maybe even a piano.

Instead, he saw whiteness. Inside, it was a square and very bare room. Each inch of wall was a sickening white.

He began to sweat. He gritted his teeth and walked slowly forward. He began to feel the wall for a secret...anything at all. Cracks? Nothing. Trap doors? Nothing. Even dirt or spider webs were missing. Nothing at all.

The floor was no help, either. No trap doors or secret staircases.

Everything was just _disgustingly _white. Nothing at all. There was just nothing in this room. Just _fuckin' _white. Friggin' white...

His hands were trembling. He felt a bit dizzy. And underneath all this, a hot ball of apprehension weighed his stomach down. He opened his mouth. _Muffled..._

Even the air seemed pose as a threat. It was trying to pin him down. _White..._

He ran.

Some time later:

He surfaced. From the swirling abyss of suffocating whiteness, he arose.

It wasn't often that he had control over his body. Most of the time, he was...asleep. Or maybe, floating in dreams seemed a better choice of words. It wasn't sleep, because he saw strange visions in detail, strangely pasted on air as windows. He had full control of his mind during these...moments of white. So, no, they weren't dreams.

He looked around. His room, he realized. He was in bed. And Bakura was sitting beside him in a chair. He noted Bakura's expression. _Not good._

"You're hiding something from me."

It was a simple statement. But the look wasn't simple at all. It talked of knives and of fire. It talked of blood and retribution. Ryou had come to fear that look.

"What are you talking about?"

A whisper. No stuttering. No loud voices. _Remember the rules. _No emotion, beyond that of submission. Do not smile. Do not frown. Normal expression. And most of all don't reveal any information.

There was a thud. Steel glinted in the moonlight. The blankets grew drenched. Still, no sound could be heard from the small figure on the bed.

Ryou could already feel the whiteness closing in on his consciousness. The last thing he could see was Bakura's face. It was oddly unfocused.

And he could feel the whiteness embracing him. Like a lover, it encompassed his entire being. The visions started flickering alive one by one. Then the festivities began.

Bakura stared at the relaxed form of Ryou. He hid the knife back into his jacket. He stood up and walked to the door. He could clean it up later.

He needed to talk to Ishizu. These events were beginning to grate on his nerves.

When he was out the door, he began to doubt Ishizu's usefulness. After all, what use would Ishizu be? Other than being a damn seer, she couldn't really do anything else. And add to the fact that she couldn't control when she could see a vision, it really wasn't worth it. But he was still worried.

By the time he reached the third block, he began to doubt if there was any real danger at all. These events certainly didn't do anything to him. They merely puzzled him. It was, after all, the weakling's problem.

By the time he reached the fifth block to Ishizu's house, he began to doubt if he hadn't just hallucinated it all. It may have been what he ate last night. It certainly isn't healthy to eat stuff found in brown paper bags left in a dark alley.

By the time Ishizu's house came to sight, he stopped and wondered why he had even bothered to come. He certainly couldn't remember any problems or any threats from Ishizu. So he turned around and went to a bar to drink. For some reason, he kept getting an odd feeling whenever he saw his reflection.

In someone's mind:

Words screamed into his ears. Plans began unfolding in front of him. History and knowledge clamored for his attention.

He cracked his fingers. His eyes narrowed. He began to write. The words floated in air. They flowed into the space beyond him.

The time for revolutions was over. Domination over the Shadow Magic must be shown at once. Things, after all, were out of hand. This would not do. Not at all.

Pictures began to move. His fingers ghosted over one of them. _The Pharaoh and the others..._

He despised them.

AN: Oh, yeah. A little preview on what I'm also working on.

Ryou's personal journey to find the ultimate sword. Sexual innuendos abound. Watch the whole cast of Yugioh go perverted on him.

Ryou had issues. The fact that he was girly, weak, spineless, and a bit slow was not among the top. No, the problem was that his sword...well...it was too heavy. He couldn't lift it. Hell, he couldn't even get it out of the scabbard. Damn it all.

And so he was on a journey to find the ultimate sword. That wasn't too heavy and might protect him from any fatal and nonfatal harm. He was, after all, really weak. It had to be cool too.

We'll find Ryou convincing the guard that he was not a warrior. He was doing very well, actually.

"—so you see, I'm not really a dangerous warrior at all. Because I don't have a sword."

The guard looked at his metal shoulder pads, his kneepads, his chain mail vest, his metal gloves, and his helmet. Then he looked at his feminine arms.

Aww. Hell, he wasn't hired for brains.

"'kay." He opened the door for the not-a-warrior.

Ryou breathed a sigh. As he was ambling along, he began to think of what he should do.

Think.

Think.

Think. He was beginning to sweat here.

Think.

Think.

T—ooh. Candy!

He skipped towards the candy store.


End file.
